


On the Ineffability of the End of the World

by bellatemple



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Castiel begs God for a sign to guide him on his path with Crowley, he goes to talk to the only angel whose been on Earth since the very beginning: Aziraphale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Ineffability of the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 [](http://spn-summergen.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_summergen**](http://spn-summergen.livejournal.com/), for [](http://axilet.livejournal.com/profile)[**axilet**](http://axilet.livejournal.com/). With many thanks to my beta, [](http://butterflykiki.livejournal.com/profile)[**butterflykiki**](http://butterflykiki.livejournal.com/)!

Aziraphale's antique bookshop in Soho hadn't changed one whit in the last twenty-one years. It wouldn't have changed in much longer than that if it hadn't been for Armageddon,1 when it had been destroyed in a fire that wasn't so much an act of God as an act of misguided witchfinder.

After that, Aziraphale supposed, it was only natural that a _few_ changes were made. A more antique till, perhaps, to frighten off potential customers. More natural light -- or less artificial light, at least. People couldn't try to buy what they couldn't see properly, and Aziraphale rather felt a book store _ought_ to be ill-lit. Not like these megastores that had sprung up recently, these "Top Shops" and "Starbuckses". 2 Yes, Aziraphale would have been quite satisfied with the changes Adam Young had made to his shop when he reconstructed it, if it hadn't been for that blasted bell.

He'd had a bell before, of course. A shop wasn't a proper shop without a little bell for him to ignore when someone came in. But that was the trouble. This bell wasn't a little bell, see, and it certainly wasn't ignorable. This bell was about the size of your average cantaloupe, and it made a sound like a gong.3 Aziraphale had every intention of replacing it, he simply hadn't gotten around to it, yet. Twenty-one years was no time at all in the grand scheme of things.4 He'd only just reached the point of deciding that if he had to listen to its echoing _BONG!!!_ one more time, he would do something terribly rash, and had climbed up onto the rickety step ladder he kept to discourage customers from wanting to reach the upper shelves in order to remove it when Castiel arrived.

Not through the door like any civilized being, of course. No, Castiel simply appeared, standing behind Aziraphale, already looking up to see what he was doing.

"Why remove it by hand?" Castiel asked. "When you could simply will it from existence?"

Aziraphale startled.5 He rounded on Castiel, arms raised to ward off an attack as if to say "Come no closer, my good man, as I am familiar with Kung Fu."6 Then he saw precisely whom his visitor was and lowered his arms.

"Ah," he said. "It's you."

"Yes," said Castiel.

"You ought to be more cautious," said Aziraphale. "Corporeal bodies aren't easy to come by, these days, not since they passed that 'Willing Vessel' law."

"I've had no issue with that law," said Castiel.

"Of course you wouldn't," said Aziraphale. "You're just a tourist, really. Try spending millennia with humanity and all those little tricks of theirs to make a body go 'spluuuut' and see how you like trying to follow a mortal bloodline."

"Ah," said Castiel. "That's why I've come."

"To make me go 'spluuuut'?" Aziraphale raised his arms again and wished he'd kept a better grasp on that flaming sword this time. There were just so _many_ people stuck out in the cold on this planet, and anyway, with great bloody big flaming sword came great responsibility, and Aziraphale had had plenty of _that_ to last him another several millennia.

"No," said Castiel. He looked baffled. Aziraphale took a moment to be proud his fellow angel -- most of their brothers spent all their time in human form looking vaguely constipated. "Because you have spent millennia on Earth. You have been here longer than any other living angel I know."

"Since the beginning," Aziraphale boasted. His pride, while technically sinful, was justified. There were only five other beings who could honestly say they'd been on Earth since it all began, as far as he knew,7 and four of them were really more anthropomorphised concepts than actual beings.

Or, hang on, had Pollution been there in the beginning? Aziraphale wasn't sure. He just always seemed to be around, especially where humans were concerned.

"Exactly," said Castiel. Aziraphale shook himself.

"What was that?" he asked. "I wasn't listening."

"You've . . . acclimated," said Castiel, who had actually paused to allow Aziraphale his reverie. "You obtained free will before any of the rest of us."

"Did I?" said Aziraphale, who had seen free will in action and was rather of the opinion that he _didn't_. "I suppose that was rather clever of me."

"Yes," said Castiel. He was clearly growing frustrated. "Which is why I require your assistance."

"Well," said Aziraphale. "I suppose we ought to talk, then. Shall we adjourn to the park? It's lovely, this time of year."

"It's quite cold, actually," said Castiel.

"That's alright," said Aziraphale. "The ducks won't mind. Be a dear, would you, and pick up a loaf of stale bread from the shop. There's a good chap."

~

"So, that's everything," said Castiel. He sounded rather like he'd practiced this spiel a time or two. "I believe it's what you would call a tragedy from the human perspective. But maybe the human perspective is limited. I don't know. That's why I'm asking you, Aziraphale. Am I doing the right thing? Am I on the right path?"

Aziraphale tossed the last bit of the bread to one of the larger ducks and murmured noncommittally. He'd rather lost interest in Castiel's tale around the part about the Tower of Babel. He'd been there himself, after all. He'd like to see Castiel do any better without just wishing the whole thing into being.

"So?" asked Castiel.

"Ah," said Aziraphale. "Er, that is." He flailed mentally for some bit of the muddled mess of Castiel's issue he could cling to. "Raphael, yes. He's always been rather a. . . . " He trailed off.

"Son of a bitch?" Castiel offered.

"Sure, yes," said Aziraphale.8 "Still, he may have a point."

Castiel turned his head to glare darkly at Aziraphale. "It is not God's will that the Apocalypse occur."

"You don't actually know that. You're not meant to know God's will, not really. It's ineffable."

Castiel would not be deterred. "If it were God's will that the world end, it would have ended. Sam Winchester would not have jumped into the Pit. I would not have been brought back."

"Ah, see, there's your problem," said Aziraphale. "You're attempting apply logic. It won't work."

"You speak from experience?" asked Castiel.

"I speak from a park bench," said Aziraphale, "where melting snow is attempting to soak my trousers. Come on, then, let's go have some tea. Your treat."

"I don't have any money," said Castiel.

"Sure you do," said Aziraphale. "Left front pocket."

Castiel checked. Sure enough, a wad of brightly colored paper now weighed down his pocket. "Will they have hamburgers?" he asked.

"I'm sure we'll find something," said Aziraphale.

~

"And so you see," said Castiel, "I had no other choice."

Aziraphale sipped at his tea and wondered if he might enjoy this conversation more if he were drunk.9 "Well," he said. "Which is it? Do you have free will, or don't you?"

"I told you," began Castiel.

"Yes, yes," said Aziraphale, dismissing the incoming reiteration of the story of Castiel's life with a wave of his hand. "If you have free will, you have a choice, even to -- er, what was it you chose again?"

"To ally myself with Crowley to find Purgatory, split the souls, and use the power I gain from them to take down Raphael once and for all."

"Right, yes, to -- hang on. Did you say with _Crowley?_ "

"Yes," said Castiel. He grew weary of Aziraphale's flighty pretensions. "The King of Hell."

"He was made King of Hell?!" Aziraphale sat back, aghast. "He didn't tell me!"

"You've allied with him as well?"

"Yes -- well, not really 'allied'. We've come to an Arrangement, you know, over the millennia. No, I'm certain he would have mentioned being crowned. Not that any would deserve it more, of course, but you must be mistaken."

Castiel frowned. "Crowley is not millennia old," he said.

Aziraphale blinked at him. "He most certainly is."

"He was born in Scotland some four hundred years ago," said Castiel.

"What, human?" Aziraphale shook his head. "I think perhaps Raphael has knocked you over the head a few too many times, dear boy. Here, I'll introduce you." And he pulled his mobile from his pocket and frowned at it for several moments before it manifested a rotary dial.10 "Infernal machine," he said. He dialed, drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for an answer on the other end. "Ah, yes, Crowley. It's, er, me -- well, yes, it's always me, but it's still polite -- I thought you might join me for tea. The Ritz, of course -- really? Facebook, I see -- oh yes, terribly clever. I'll see you shortly, then." He rapped the phone sharply on the edge of the table to end the call. The phone sputtered unhappily, and he resisted the urge to apologize to it.

"Facebook?" asked Castiel

"His current project," said Aziraphale. "He's quite good, you know. Invented the Fail Whale, whatever that is. And electronic junk mail."

"Ah," said Castiel. "The Nigerians."

"Well, no," said Aziraphale. "They rather invented themselves."

Aziraphale sipped his tea. Castiel stared down at his like he rather wished it was something else altogether, but couldn't remember how to make that happen. Really, and people said _Aziraphale_ had gone native.

"I didn't know he invented things," Castiel said morosely. "No one tells me anything."

Crowley arrived not long after that, having pushed his Bentley nearly to the limit just because he could. Apparently, he'd rather liked the look of driving a great flaming wreck and frightening the locals, as he spent much of his time these days trying to recreate that fateful trip.11 "Right then," he said, coming up to the table and rubbing his hands together. "Who do we have here?"

Castiel looked Crowley over dismissively, then looked back to Aziraphale. "That's not Crowley," he said.

Crowley shot Aziraphale a look as if to say "This is who you choose to spend your time with when I'm not around?" Aziraphale's look in return denied any fault in the matter, and distinctly implied that Castiel was several feathers short of a full pair of wings.12

A fourth figure appeared at the table and stole Castiel's cup of tea. "Ah," the figure said. "Just what I was craving after a long day dissecting the Mother of All. Cassie, you shouldn't have."

Aziraphale looked at the newcomer as though he'd crawled out from underneath a particularly nasty rock. "And who are you, then?"

"Crowley," said the newcomer. ""King of Hell. A pleasure."

"You are not," said Crowley.13

"Aren't I?" asked Crowley. "Well, who would you be, then?"

"Crowley," said Crowley. "And I've never heard of you."

"Oh, well, then," said Crowley. " _That_ certainly proves everything, doesn't it?"

"Is this a joke?" Castiel asked. He was genuinely curious. He wasn't always very good at identifying attempts at humor.

"It'd better be," muttered Crowley, sending Aziraphale an accusing look.

"Now, now," said Aziraphale. "I'm certain we can work this out like civilized -- er, what exactly are you?" he asked Crowley.

"A demon," said Crowley. "Are you angel sorts always like this? I thought it was just my pal Cas over here."

"Please," scoffed Crowley. "Why, you didn't fall from grace. You didn't even saunter vaguely downwards. You can't be more than five hundred years old."

"Four hundred," supplied Castiel.

"Don't help, darling," said Crowley. "And as one of the more delightful humans once said: 'Age ain't nothin' but a number.'"

"Someone said that?" said Aziraphale. "How dreadful."

"If we might return to the point," said Castiel.

"Hang on," said Crowley. "I'm still on this bit where this bloke's the King of Hell. I may not have been home in a few thousand years, but I should have at least gotten a memo."

"We've reorganized," said Crowley. "It must have gotten lost in the mail."

" _The point_ ," said Castiel, "is that Raphael wishes to control Heaven and restart the Apocalypse."

"I thought _we_ were meant to start that," said Crowley. "Remember? Baby in a cemetery? Satanic nuns? We've done this."

"New interpretation of the text," said Aziraphale. "Pay attention, my dear."

"Do try to keep up," said Crowley. Crowley waved a dismissive hand at him.

"I came here," Castiel insisted, growing tired of the bickering, "for advice from Aziraphale. Not to feed ducks, drink tea, or discuss who's the real Crowley."

"That's easily rectified," said Crowley. "I'm Crowley. I was here first. Why not try calling yourself 'Hastur'? I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Last I heard, he was trapped in an answerphone."

"I'm the King of Hell," said Crowley. "Dealer of Deals. Grand Poobah of Very Bad Times. I'll call myself what I damn well please!"

"Gentlemen!" said Aziraphale. "Please, people are beginning to stare.14 Now, really, there's a simple solution here. You," he pointed to Crowley, "will be Crowley. And you," this to Crowley, "will be Crowley. Are we agreed?"

"Fine by me," said Crowley.

"Well alright," said Crowley. "But only because I get to be Crowley."

"Good, good," said Aziraphale. "Now, then, what was it you wanted, Castiel? Castiel? Here, now, he's left."

"Without even a goodbye," said Crowley. "That's a bit rude. You've been a bad influence on him, Crowley."

"Nah," said Crowley. "It's those American meatsuits. No sense of propriety."

"Well," said Crowley. "You didn't want to get mixed up in all that, anyway, Aziraphale. I thought we agreed, no more politics."

"Er," said Aziraphale. "I would have said 'no' eventually. But I had to hear him out, first. Ineffability, you know."

"A wise choice," said Crowley. "Castiel and his pet humans are a stubborn lot. He never would have left you alone if you didn't convince him he was leaving of his own accord." He finished his tea and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Now, if you gents will excuse me. It's been fun, but I still have Purgatory to find."

"Good luck with that," offered Crowley. "It’s good to know the demon stealing my name at least has some taste."

"The name clearly has quite a pedigree," agreed Crowley. "We’ll have to do this again, some time. Ta."

And Crowley vanished. Crowley picked up a biscuit and nibbled at the icing. "So," he said. "I notice you've been messing with the Internet."

"Well," said Aziraphale. "That _is_ one of yours, isn't it?"

"I thought it was yours," said Crowley. "Why do you think I've been undermining it with all that porn?"

~

Castiel sat perched on the edge of a bench in a snowy patch of woods in southwestern Canada. "You know, I've been here for a very long time," he said. "And I remember many things. I remember being at a shoreline, watching a little gray fish heave itself up on the beach and an older brother saying, 'don't step on that fish, Castiel. Big plans for that fish.' . . ."15

  


* * *

 **Notes:**

1 _The_ Armageddon, mind you, the one with Atlantis and the Tibetan monks and the barely-averted nuclear war. Not that rather sad attempt the Yanks had made. That one barely even involved a respectable Antichrist. Oh, sure, Lucifer had walked the Earth, but it wasn't as though he'd _done_ much of anything.

Aziraphale had averted Armageddon _before_ it became The Thing To Do, thank you very much.

2 Aziraphale had of course never been into a Top Shop or a Starbucks, or even Foyles, for that matter. He distrusted any store with a name he recognized as a matter of course.

3 It was possible that Adam had never much encountered a proper little bookshop bell, and had instead modeled this one on the bells of his local church. It was equally possible -- and far more likely -- that Adam knew precisely what sort of bell an antique bookshop such as Aziraphale's ought to have and had installed this one _just to annoy him._

4 Aziraphale had once taken a nap for longer than that, in fact. Not because he'd needed it, of course, but because Crowley had assured him it was an excellent and morally neutral thing to do. And Crowley ought to know, having slept through most of the nineteenth century, himself.

5 This is an understatement. In actual fact, Aziraphale jumped up, landed awkwardly back on the step ladder, snapping each rung neatly in half in turn in a manner not unlike certain animated North American wild animals, and fell to the floor shrieking not so much like a woman as like a small child confronted for the first time by a malicious party clown. He’s asked for that information _not_ to be included in the official recounting of events.

6 He wasn't.

7 Which was extremely far.

8 Though, really, Raphael wasn't the son of anything. He was the creation of God, certainly, but God wasn't so much _a_ bitch as The Great and All-Powerful Everybitch.

9 The answer was "yes".

10 For the younger readers: a rotary dial was a clicking wheely thing once used to input numerical information into a telephone in lieu of buttons. Buttons, of course, being the little knobby things which go in and out when you press on them. These would have given Aziraphale no trouble at all, but his current phone was of the sort that liked to lay claim to self-identifying singular pronouns and boast about its intelligence, and the only other way Aziraphale had found of reliably manipulating it was to rap it sharply on the table several times until it begged for mercy.

11 More accurately, Crowley still didn't trust Adam's work in rebuilding the Bentley after the events of the Apocalypse, and was rather looking forward to the smug feeling he'd get when it would eventually break down while doing 90 through Central London.

12 Crowley and Aziraphale had had several thousand years to perfect their looks. They could now not only convey detailed information with quirks of their eyebrows, but even had the subtleties of situationally appropriate metaphors worked out.

13 For simplicity's sake, we've chosen to differentiate the two Crowleys thusly: Aziraphale's Crowley shall henceforth be known as "Crowley", while Castiel's Crowley will be referred to as "Crowley."

There, now aren't you glad we cleared that up?

14 In fact, people had been staring for quite some time now, ever since the American in the rumpled suit had attempted to order a cheeseburger and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

15 "That’s it?" Jesse Turner looked at Adam Young, then at the third figure at the table. "We just fade to black on a big speech? That’s totally lame."

Adam shrugged. "You could change it," he said. "But you probably don’t want to. It’s not as fun as it looks."

IT’S INEFFABLE, said the third figure. He adjusted the ring on one bony finger. NOW. WHO WANTS SOME DESSERT?

The End


End file.
